Lost and Found
by scarlet79
Summary: A look at all the people Sheppard has lost and found throughout his life. Kind of a mix between one-shots, tags, and an actual story. Have fun figuring that one out! Also, may contain Sheyla/other ships. Rated T for language and slight violence, also in later chapters. Heh.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: So, I got an idea a while ago for a story and worked on it, but then I found a pic of Sheppard online and it sparked a related idea. I decided to do a series on all the people Sheppard has lost - and found! Most of them will probably be short chapters more like one-shots, but they all tie together time-wise._

_Hope you enjoy, and don't worry! I'm still working on the other stuff, but with my new job it's hard to find enough time. Thanks for your patience so far - I haven't forgotten about you all!_

* * *

_Chapter One:_

_(Tag to "Outcast")_

* * *

Ronon can see Sheppard inside the small room, his lanky frame surrounded by huge urns of flowers. Sheppard's head is bowed slightly, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark blue suit, and though he can only see his friend's back, the set of his spine tells Ronon that Sheppard is both relieved and sad. It's the relief that puzzles Ronon – he does not truly understand why it's there, on such a terrible day for the colonel.

Sheppard's hand escapes the pocket and hovers above the polished wooden coffin, as if he wishes to touch it but is afraid to. A soft sigh whispers from him, his fingers flex once, twice, then leave off hovering to run through the brush of dark hair on top of his head before returning to the safety of his pocket.

Ronon wonders for only a moment why Sheppard does not speak, but soon understands. Warriors like himself, like the colonel, mourn their dead in silence. When words are spoken over a grave or beside a pyre, they are not spoken for the dead – who cannot hear them – but as comfort for the living. As they had traveled from Atlantis to Earth, Ronon had heard a small portion of the childhood Sheppard had faced with the man in the coffin, and now he figured that Sheppard neither needed nor wanted that comfort. Despite his feelings for the man, however, Sheppard had still decided to come here. Ronon thinks that maybe it was for some sort of closure, but what kind he couldn't even begin to guess at.

Ronon is about to walk away when a quiet sound reaches his sensitive ears – a single word, spoken in little more than a whisper.

"Goodbye."


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Here's chapter two. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Two:

Balcony Confessional

* * *

Sitting alone on the balcony outside the Gate room, Sheppard looked out over the vast ocean that surrounded the city. Now back from his father's funeral, he had been left mostly to himself, though he guessed that was more thanks to Carter's orders rather than the Atlantis crew's sense of propriety. Still, he was grateful for the silence, even if it was fleeting.

He glanced over at the railing, at the spot just beside the last support but before the wall. It was where she had been standing the first time they had really spoken since coming here.

_Argued, you mean_, her voice echoed in his head, and he subconsciously smirked. Even in his own imagination, she still had to play Devil's Advocate.

_**Okay, fine**__,_ he mentally replied. _**We argued. You thought I was being immature, hot tempered and hard-headed. I thought you were being too cold, distant and diplomatic.**_

He shook his head, glad that for the moment, no one could see him out here. She had been right about him then; he had been on a personal mission of self-destruction, more concerned with burning as many bridges as he could than doing what was truly right. Oh, he _did_ care, that was for damned sure, but his joining the Atlantis expedition had ultimately come down to a coin flip. Heads up, he would go; tails up and he would stay where he was, piloting helicopters in Antarctica, playing ferryman for Air Force generals and other such mucky-mucks. Destiny had chosen for him when the coin landed on the back of his hand, and so he packed everything up and left. When they had discovered that their trip to the Pegasus galaxy had been one-way, he had secretly rejoiced. For him, it was almost like starting from scratch. He had a black mark on his record, true, but he figured that if he proved himself out here, it might at least fade to a dusty gray.

_I was wrong_, he heard her say then, and the sudden admission startled him enough that he sat up straight.

_**About what?**_ He wondered silently.

_You weren't just a fly-boy with a death wish. You were, and still are, an honorable man who feels a deep need to protect those who can't protect themselves._

_**But there was one person I couldn't protect**_, he argued. As he thought those words, he peered again at the railing and could almost see her standing there, her slender hands folded in front of her. Her auburn hair fanned away from her face as the breeze blew, its curls bobbing just like the surf below them. Sadness choked him then, twining around his stomach like an iron fist. His vision of her flickered and then disappeared, and the silence left in her wake was deafening.

Just before he feared that he would start screaming and never stop, the door to the Gate room swished open and Rodney McKay stepped outside. He started over to where Sheppard sat but then suddenly stopped, a puzzled expression on his rounded face. Sheppard noticed, and shot him a questioning look.

"I could have sworn I smelled roses..." McKay muttered in reply.

Though his insides turned to jelly, Sheppard merely nodded and then stood up. Her favorite perfume had been rose-scented. He had thought that she had been a figment of his imagination. Had she really been there, after all? It couldn't be, he reasoned; she was dead. But if that was true then how did he explain Rodney sensing her, too? As nonchalantly as he could, Sheppard replied, "Me, too. Must be the flowers from the mainland or something."

It was a terrible explanation, and he knew it. The mainland was much too far away for any floral breezes to make their way to Atlantis. Mentally kicking himself, Sheppard readied himself for the barrage of insults and snarky comments he knew were coming.

But they never came. McKay still stood where he had stopped, uttering a soft, "Hmm." Then, with a final shake of his head, he seemed to recall his reason for finding the colonel. "Movie night is guy's choice. It's down to Jaws or Alien."

Sheppard shrugged. "Which Jaws, and which Alien?"

McKay scoffed. "Please. The sequels don't even count as movies!"

That drew a smile from the dark-haired man. "I vote Jaws."

"Thank God!" His friend breathed. "I don't think I can live through the William Hurt scene again."

As McKay stepped back through the door, muttering the whole way about who would win in a battle between aliens and sharks, Sheppard turned back to glance one last time at the empty balcony.

Hoping that somehow she could hear him, he silently said, _**I'm sorry, Elizabeth.**_

The door slid closed behind him, and so he never heard the soft reply – nothing more than a whisper that anyone else would have thought was the wind – but it was there.

_Nothing to forgive._


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Sorry for the delay. I had a funeral to go to Monday, and then I had to work both that night and yesterday, so I was dead tired. LOL anyway, here's the next two chapters to make up for the wait..._

* * *

_Chapter 3:_

_Nancy_

* * *

"John?" A woman's voice asked in the dark. "Are you okay?"

John Sheppard sat on the edge of the bed, his body trembling so hard it shook the mattress. He was covered in sweat, his face buried in his hands. Bits of the dream still swirled in his mind, a nightmare so real it had him screaming until he woke himself up, his limbs flailing as he struggled back to consciousness.

Behind him, Nancy reached out her hand, then stopped just short of touching him. He had been even more withdrawn lately than usual, and the dreams had gotten worse. He had woken up much the same way – crying out and then bolting awake – nearly every night that week. She ached to hold him, to pull him into her arms, but she knew he would never come willingly. It hurt her to know that she could not comfort him. His secrets were drowning him, pushing him deeper into himself, and soon the day would come when his former self no longer surfaced.

She was losing him.

"John?" She tried again, her voice soft.

"I'm okay," he assured her, though his frame continued to shake. "I just need a minute."

He knew what he was doing to her. He could see the disappointment in her eyes every time he shut down, but he was unable to stop it. The things he had seen, what he had done over there...some of them she would never understand, and the others, well, he was under orders not to speak about. True, she was his wife, but orders were orders. He had disobeyed enough of those recently, so many in fact that they were ready to ship him completely away from the States. He had to make an effort now, because if he screwed up again they would probably kick him out of the Air Force. That meant losing his income, his pension – everything. They would lose this house, which meant that he would have to go grovel for forgiveness at his father's feet.

No, he had decided long ago never to do that. His father had been wrong about him. He was not more concerned with himself than with the Sheppard family, with the business. It was just that he wanted to make his life on his own, not on his father's dime. His inheritance had never mattered to him. Money wasn't what he valued, it was just a means to an end. He had thought that Nancy had understood that, but just last month she had come to him asking what he thought about their going in with his father to buy a racehorse.

"What would we do with a racehorse?" he had asked her then.

"Well, if he wins, we could put the money into savings for the kids' college funds," she had replied, her eyes hopeful.

It had made him angry, that look. The look that said that once again, she was begging him to reconsider a family. He didn't have time for a family; hell, sometimes he didn't have time for a wife. He knew how often she got left behind while he took off on a sudden mission – one that he couldn't tell her about, of course – and how alone she felt when he was gone. How fair would it be to bring kids into that picture? For them to have a dad who was never around, who might come home one day in a pine box?

"I told you, Nancy..." he began, and then the hope turned to something darker.

Frowning, she shook her head. "I know what you told me. What I want to know is what you're running from, John?"

"I'm not running."

"Really?" she asked, crossing her arms. "It took me almost a year to get you to agree to this house, and that was only because it's so close to the base. All I'm asking for is a chance. A chance at a life with you."

"I can't," he had replied, his voice dropping suddenly to a whisper. "I'm sorry."

He had expected her to get angry, to shout at him, but she had simply stood there for a moment and then turned and walked away. It was in that moment, in her giving up, that he had realized he had lost her for good. She might still be beside him right now, kissing him goodnight and sleeping in the same bed, but she was so far away, she might as well have packed and left already.

"Tell me," she now pleaded quietly, but he shook his head.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," he muttered.

"John, please."

At the sound of his name on her lips, he suddenly stood up and turned around. "I said, I can't. Jesus, Nancy! Why can't you ever just leave it alone? I don't want to talk about it."

"You never want to talk about anything!" she cried, standing up on her side of the bed. "You've been waking up like this every night, but you never let me help you!"

"How could you possibly help?"

"I could listen. I could..."

"Could what?" He crossed his arms, his finger brushing the scar on the right side of his chest as he moved. "Understand? You will never understand what I went through, the things I saw!"

"How do you know that?" She shouted back. "You never even gave me a chance to try!"

"Because it's terrible. Damaging. What happened over there was like living the worst nightmare ever dreamed, only you can't wake up because you're already awake. Why would I want anyone to experience something like that? Why should I put someone else through that kind of hell?"

"Because I'm your wife. Because..." she paused, conflicted as to whether she really should say what she was about to. "Because I love you."

He shook his head sadly. "Love isn't enough, Nancy. We can't keep pretending that as long as we love each other, everything will be okay."

Tears, hot and stinging, sprang to her eyes. Was he really saying what she thought he was? "Why not?" She asked.

"Don't get me wrong – I am completely glad that you love me. But if you knew what I did over there..." his hazel eyes slid closed, and he took a shaky breath. "You wouldn't anymore."

Nancy came around the bed then. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. "Nothing you did could make me stop loving you, John."

He allowed her to hold him for a minute before he pulled away. Stepping over to the dresser, he pulled it open and dug out a set of clothes as he said, "It should. It makes me hate myself."

Fear sparked in her chest, hot and bright. "Where are you going?"

"I can't do this any more, Nancy."

He pulled on a pair of jeans as she said, "Please, don't leave."

"I need to clear my head."

On went the black t-shirt, followed by a black sweatshirt.

"I need you."

At this, he shook his head. "You've never needed me, Nancy." She opened her mouth to dispute that, but he kept going. "As long as my money's been there, you were content. Even the fact that I wouldn't give you kids wasn't enough to make you leave. That's not love, Nancy, that's security."

"So, what then? We've just been pretending to love each other these past three years? That you never loved me?"

"I don't know any more," he admitted. "I'm not sure I've ever known what love is, or what it feels like."

Only now did anger rise within her, and came spilling out in a torrent. Stalking over to the closet, she yanked it open and started grabbing clothes out of it, hangers and all. Tossing them on the bed, she ducked back in the closet and pulled out a large suitcase.

"You know what?" she said as she began dumping the clothes into the case. "The doctors were right."

"About what?"

"They said when you came home, here..." she stopped long enough to sweep her hand in a gesture to indicate their room, "that I should expect you to be damaged, more in your mind than on your body. Well, they were right. Only, instead of getting better, you got worse."

"What are you doing?" He asked, though he was already pretty sure of the answer.

"I tried, John. God, I tried so hard. To give you space, to let you come to me in your own time. But you never did. You wouldn't let me in. I'm tired of trying."

He should have been trying to stop her, but he could only stand there and watch. Nancy finished packing her suitcase, then went into the bathroom and collected her things in a cardboard box, all while he mutely followed behind her. When she was finished, she took everything out to her car and loaded them into the trunk, then came back inside.

Her hands came up, rested against his chest as she stared into his hollow eyes.

"Goodbye, John. Take care of yourself."

Unable to speak past the lump of self-loathing in his throat, he only nodded. Nancy reached down and took one of his hands in hers while the other hand slowly placed something in his palm, then closed his fingers around it. It was round, made of metal.

Her wedding ring.

His eyes slammed shut as he realized what he had just done. He kept them closed as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, even as he heard her walk to the door and pause, probably waiting to see if he would beg her to stay. After a moment, the screen door squeaked open and then banged shut. A car engine revved, and then all was silent.

John finally got the courage up to open his eyes and look down at his hand. Nancy's ring nestled in the middle of his palm, the hallway light reflecting off its golden surface...

"And that was it. She left me."

Ronon nodded solemnly and took a swig from the beer bottle he held in his large right hand. "So, did you?"

"Did I what?" Sheppard asked.

"Love her."

"Yeah. Not as much as I should have, though. I loved freedom more. I loved my job more."

Ronon nodded again. "And now?"

Sheppard made a frustrated sound and set his bottle down on the edge of the pier. If Carter had seen him do it, she would have had a fit, going on about potential litter falling into the ocean and getting sucked into the filtration systems. In that respect, she was more like Rodney than she would care to admit.

"What is this," he asked his friend, "a psychology exercise?"

Ronon shrugged. "So what if it is?"

Sheppard was silent as he gazed out over the vast sea beyond the city. Then, softly, he replied, "No. Well, I still love my job. But I'm not against having a family any more."

"Why not?"

"Ronon..."

The Satedan merely grinned, showing his teeth, and the colonel sighed.

"Fine." He sighed again before answering. "Because back then, I was afraid of becoming my father, of never being there when my family needed me. Every time I thought of kids, all I could see was myself and my brother, being raised by nannies and stuff. It wasn't a childhood, the life we had – and I never wanted anyone else to have to suffer through the same situation."

It was quiet on the pier for a while after the last of his words drifted away on the breeze. Then, Ronon asked, "You ever tell Nancy this?"

Sheppard barked a laugh. "I tried, a thousand times. And every time, she swore that she would make sure it was different for them. What could she possibly have done? Tie me up and threaten the Air Force with violence if they tried to come in and get me?" He shook his head. "She was just so in love with the idea of kids, she didn't care what I thought. We were so different..."

"Stubborn, you mean."

Sheppard's head whipped around to glare at the other man. Then, his gaze dropped and he said, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. And by the time I was ready to stop being stubborn, she was done trying to reach me."

They fell quiet again, comfortable enough in their friendship to not feel the need to fill the silence. Ronon finished his beer and went for another, while Sheppard still sipped from his first. The wind continued to blow around them, whispering through Sheppard's often comically unruly hair, bringing with it the scent of flowers. Startled, he looked around, but saw nothing.

"What?" Ronon asked then, and Sheppard jumped as if he'd been shocked.

"God," he breathed. "Don't do that!"

"You okay? You're a little pale."

"I'm fine," Sheppard assured his friend. Then, cocking his head to the side, he asked, "Did you smell anything just now?"

Ronon shrugged. "Yeah. Flowers." His eyebrows knitted together in concern. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," the colonel replied, though Ronon could tell that was not completely true. He thought about saying so, but then decided against it. Even if there was no good reason for Sheppard to lie, Ronon would never try to force him to spill the truth. Sheppard often did that on his own, eventually.

"A lot of times when I come out here I smell 'em," Ronon told him. "Figure we must be directly across from the mainland. Wind blows, and the scent carries over with it."

"That's an awful long way, Ronon. We shouldn't be able to smell stuff from the mainland from here."

"Why not? Rodney can smell chocolate cake all the way from his lab, and he doesn't have half the training either of us have."

They both laughed at that, and when their laughter had died down, Sheppard finished off his beer and set the empty bottle down beside him. "Anyway," he said, brushing his hands off on his dress pants, "I figure that now, it's too late for me to think about a family."

"Never too late," Ronon rumbled.

"I'm stuck out here, on a floating military base in the middle of nowhere, on a planet in the middle of nowhere..."

"A military base the size of one of your cities on Earth," Ronon corrected, mimicking something he had heard Rodney mutter once. "There's hundreds of people here."

"Yeah, and the majority of them are military, which we have rules about."

"We also have a Stargate."

Sheppard sighed. "Yeah, and out of the hundreds of times we've gone to make friends with a race out there, how many have we come back with actual allies? Three, maybe four?"

Now, Ronon huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know what I think?" Sheppard shook his head. "I think that you still don't want a family. You've come up with an excuse against each suggestion. So, either you don't want a family at all, or you have your eye on someone but are too afraid to admit it, even to me."

"First of all, I'm not afraid. I'm just..." At the piercing look his friend gave him, Sheppard folded like a house of cards. Closing his eyes, he let out his breath and let his shoulders slump. "Okay, fine. Maybe you're right. But even if you are, so what? I'm still in the same position I was back when Nancy was around. My job is too dangerous to have a family, Ronon. I don't want to start something, only to die and leave them alone. It's not fair."

"Who said anything about fair?" Ronon asked. "Nothing in any part of the universe is fair. That's just life."

"But see, that's my point."

"No. Your point is that you don't want to share your life." Ronon's eyes turned dark, angry. "Because if you do, then your heart becomes open to someone else. And you can't do that, because you've been closed off for so long. Maybe you've just forgotten how to love someone – but that's not fair, either. There's people who want to love you, but they can't because you won't let them."

"Yeah?" Sheppard asked, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Like who?"

"Elizabeth, for one."

The name jolted him, and he stared at Ronon's brown eyes. Was he telling the truth, or just trying to get a reaction?

"She loved you like a sister, or maybe closer than that. I dunno. But she could only get so close to you before that famous wall came up and pushed her away."

"I...we were leaders together. Coworkers."

"So? It's not against your rules to care about your coworkers."

"I know that."

"Then what's your excuse for Teyla?"

Sheppard frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You completely overreacted when she told you she was pregnant."

"I was pissed that she let me send her on missions when she's got a kid growing inside her. That's not overreacting. That's being careful."

"You still didn't have to treat her the way you did. You don't see me beating you to a pulp every time you piss me off. And I get mad at you a lot."

"I didn't beat her up, Ronon."

"Not with your hands," Ronon agreed.

"I already apologized for shouting at her."

"It's not your apology that she wants." Now, Ronon stood and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Thanks for the drinks."

With that, he walked away, leaving Sheppard to think, staring unseeingly out at the horizon.

* * *

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

* * *

Sheppard was experiencing that strange sensation again – the one where you knew you were standing up straight, fully awake, but it felt as if the floor had suddenly dropped out from under you and you were falling into some deep, dark abyss. Being shot with a Wraith stunner sort of felt the same way. The difference was that when you woke up from being stunned, your entire body was on pins-and-needles. That feeling was only slightly worse than how he felt now.

Nervously clearing his throat, Sheppard released his grip on the hand of the man standing before him, then stuffed his hand into his pocket. It was rare that someone, anyone, could make Sheppard fall silent, almost sullen, but this man had done it without speaking a word.

Rodney, Ronon and Teyla stood nearby, each of them puzzled. As they watched their fearless leader suddenly shrink into himself, Ronon's eyes searched the gray-haired man's face standing before Sheppard. He was smiling, but Ronon was sure that even someone like McKay could see through that mask. The man's eyes were shrewd, and Ronon knew that he and the rest of the team were being assessed in much the same way they had been evaluating the stranger, their every move being filed away for later reference.

"Who's that?" Rodney asked then, standing at Ronon's elbow with a drink in his hand. Ronon eyed the champagne and then shot the physicist a look. Rodney simply shrugged and said, "What? It's a party, Ronon. And more importantly, it's _free_." _We might as well try to fit in to whatever this is_, he added mentally.

"I dunno," Ronon finally replied, ignoring McKay's justifications. He had to admit, though, that there was something familiar about this man, as if he had met or at least heard of him before, which was fairly close to impossible as they were currently on Earth, and he had only been here a grand total of twice. Since Ronon was good with faces, given enough time he might have been able to identify him; but with all the people here on Earth, well, that skill was spectacularly useless.

Teyla took the opportunity to also study the man's features, and a look of realization dawned slowly on her exotic features. Before she could utter a word, however, Sheppard had come to join them, as had the strange man. Sheppard still appeared subdued, though he tried to hide it behind a polite smile.

"Hey, guys. How's everything?" He asked.

"Fine," Ronon grunted, plucking an appetizer from a passing tray and popping it in his mouth.

Rodney leaned forward and hissed, "Oh, so you can eat, but I can't have champagne?"

Ronon just glowered at him until he backed away again.

"We're good, John," Rodney assured his friend, who nodded gratefully.

"Good to hear." Sheppard seemed anxious, his eyes darting first right, then left. Then, he did a half-turn toward his companion and said, "I guess I should introduce you all."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, John," the man cried, taking a step forward. Teyla noticed that as he did so, Sheppard subconsciously took one step back, and it made her instantly nervous. "We'll be here all day." He extended his hand to Rodney, who quickly took it if for no other reason than to stop the man from further commenting on Sheppard's manners. "I'm Patrick Sheppard. John's father."

From where he stood, Sheppard could see Teyla's face perfectly. Her brown eyes widened at his father's introduction, but at least she had the sense to keep her mouth closed. He wished he could say the same for Rodney. The man was positively agape, his mouth bobbing open and closed like a fish out of water.

"Um," Rodney stuttered, "I'm, uh, McKay. Dr. Rodney McKay."

Patrick smiled warmly – _ha, _Sheppard thought_, there's a novel idea_ – and replied, "Is that so? A doctor?"

"Of physics, yes. Well, Astrophysics, really, and..."

"Quite a chatterbox," Sheppard interrupted, directing his father's attention to the six-foot-four man beside McKay. "This is Ronon Dex. He's, uh, a civilian contractor."

"Nice to meet you," Patrick greeted Ronon, who shook his hand with only half as much strength as he had readily available. He didn't think breaking Sheppard's father's hand would go over very well, especially around here.

"And who is this lovely lady?" Patrick asked then, his smile becoming wider, his voice softer.

As Teyla blushed a deep red, Sheppard replied, "This is Teyla Emmagen. She's a cultural adviser."

"Teyla." Patrick tested her name on his tongue, then smiled again before pressing his lips to the back of her hand. "Quite a lovely name."

"Thank you, Mr. Sheppard," Teyla said with a bow of her head, and Sheppard found himself grow suddenly possessive of her. Forgetting his confusion at seeing his father alive and well, he stepped forward and looped his arm around her back, his hazel eyes flashing a challenge at anyone who dared venture too close.

Shrewd businessman that he was, Patrick noticed the look in his son's eyes and straightened up, though his smile never slipped. "Well, I should go find your brother. He's been hounding me to meet his fiancee."

As Patrick walked away, Sheppard turned to the team and frowned deeply. "Okay, what the hell is going on here?"

Teyla shook her head. "I...I do not understand."

"Me either," Ronon put in. "I thought we were going to an Air Force party."

"Yeah, me too," John replied. His brow was still wrinkled in confusion.

Rodney made a sound in his throat and then asked, "So then, why's your family here, and why is there a 'Congratulations Dave and Jillian' banner hanging up?"

"I thought that your father had passed away, John."

"Yeah, he did," Sheppard confirmed with a nod. "Which is why I'm freaking out."

"Oh, this is just great," Rodney whined. "Tell me we're not on that planet with the mist again. I don't wanna starve to death."

"Shut up, McKay," Ronon growled, cutting his eyes over to Sheppard. "Not everything's about you."

To his credit, Rodney did fall silent, though he visibly pouted.

"We're not on the mist planet," Sheppard assured them. "I've been trying to change things like I did last time, but nothing's working."

"So, where are we, then?" Ronon asked.

"Not sure, yet. Just play it cool for now and let's see what we can find out."

"Guys, I think the more accurate question is 'when are we'," Rodney stated then, his eyes wide. This day had started so well, and now with each passing second, it was becoming decidedly less fun.

"What?" Ronon and Sheppard both asked, their eyebrows knitted in confusion.

Rodney sighed, quickly regaining his ego. "Look, your father died four months ago, right?"

"Right."

"And it seems that right now we're at your brother's engagement party..."

"Dave got married two years before Dad died," Sheppard murmured. "Oh, crap."

"I am lost," Teyla admitted then.

Sheppard breathed out a sigh. "Rodney thinks – and I happen to agree – that we've gone through some kind of wrinkle in time."

"How?" Ronon asked, crossing his huge arms over his chest. "We didn't use the Stargate. You said that's the only way something like this could happen."

"And I was right, as are you," Rodney conceded.

"Okay, so then what happened?" Sheppard wondered aloud, frowning. "How'd we get here?"

Rodney mimicked his frown and hissed, "Look, I couldn't even venture a guess right now. Let me get back to our room and hop on my tablet, see what I can figure out, okay?"

"I'll go with him," Ronon offered, knowing that McKay was often directionally challenged and got lost more times than any of them could count. "Besides, this tie is strangling me."

Sheppard nodded, then raised his eyebrows at Teyla. "Looks like it's just the two of us. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?"

Teyla chuckled and shook her head at his antics. "Perhaps you would care to dance? Jennifer has been teaching me a few steps here and there when she has time."

His eyebrows shot up into his hair at that. "Really?" He asked, drawing the word out as long as he could. Glancing around, he saw that there were only a few couples on the dance floor, and he finally shrugged. "I guess a song or two couldn't hurt. Just follow what I do; you'll catch on quick, I bet."

Sheppard held his bent elbow out to her, and she easily slipped her arm through the empty space and allowed him to lead her out onto the floor. When they had found a suitable place, he turned to face her and clasped her hand in his, then placed his other hand on her waist. They waited a few beats to find their start, and when the moment came, Teyla found herself trying to close her eyes and just drift along with Sheppard's momentum. He was nervous, that she could tell from the crooked smile he kept giving her, but his feet moved naturally over the floor, as if he had practiced this very dance a thousand times before. Teyla smiled sunnily back up at him, then slipped her free hand loosely around his neck.

"What is this dance called?" She asked him over the orchestra's playing. It was loud, but not uncomfortably so.

"A waltz."

"Wherever did you learn it? It seems quite difficult."

"My mom insisted that Dave and I learn to be 'civilized' children," he replied, miming quotes as best he could with both hands occupied. "She gave us lessons every Saturday afternoon."

"Well, she did a wonderful job," Teyla said. "You are very good at this."

Patrick watched his son out on the floor with his exotic-looking lady friend. For once, John was actually smiling and seeming to have a good time. Patrick had not seen him look so happy in a long time – actually, he had not seen him at all in almost two decades – and that was truly a shame. He remembered the reason why they had not spoken in so long, a silly moment when Patrick had tried to control John in the worst way possible, by insisting that John become his successor in the company, simultaneously casting all of John's own dreams and ideas out the window before he could speak them.

That whole idea had been a mistake, and only John had had the sense to see it, even way back at the young age of fourteen. Patrick's oldest son was not the type to sit behind a desk and basically live to sign paper after paper. He needed action; he'd always been the more sport-oriented child of the two, and the most accident-prone as well. But that was why Maggie had loved him, wasn't it? Because John was so much like her, down to her dark hair and hazel eyes, to the tiny dimples they both carried in their cheeks. And that – that single reason and no other – was why Patrick could barely stand to look at his son sometimes. Every time John smiled, Patrick could see Maggie reflected in the boy's face, and it hurt so much more than he ever knew anything could. Because of this, Patrick was almost glad when John had slammed out of their home that last time. Though it meant that he lost his son, it also meant that he would no longer be tortured by Maggie's ghost.

_Oh_, Patrick chuckled as he shook his head, _if only that had been true._

"You okay, Dad?"

Patrick looked up to see Dave standing there, peering at him with the oddest expression on his face, and the Sheppard patriarch smiled.

"Sure am, son." Then, he tilted his chin toward the dance floor and asked, "You say hi to your brother?"

Dave scowled and leaned back against the bar. "No, and I don't intend to."

"David..." Patrick began, but Dave shook his head.

"No, Dad. It's fine if you want to reconcile with him, but I'd just as soon take a bullet. He's the one who left us, remember? Now he just happens to show up, after all that time, right when I get engaged..."

"Because he cares about you and Jillian." Just then, John started toward them, and he said, "Now, be nice to your brother and his friend, please."

"No promises," Dave muttered, but then smiled warmly when John had finally reached the bar. Sticking out his hand, Dave said, "Long time, no see, huh John?"

"Got that right," John replied, smiling right on back. Then, he gestured at the woman and said, "Dave, this is Teyla. Teyla, this is my brother, Dave."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Teyla greeted him, a smile – the first genuine smile between the four of them – on her light pink lips.

"Pleasure's mine," Dave said, truthful at least in this regard. "If I were a less polite man, I'd ask how you ever put up with someone like John, but, well..."

Though it sounded like a joke, neither Teyla or John could mistake the icy tone beneath his words. Before John could reply, Teyla chuckled lightly shook her head.

"Fortunately for me, your brother has grown out of most of his impulsiveness, and treats everyone around him with great respect and patience."

Okay, so that was only marginally true, but she forgave herself the small deception in order to keep the conversation light. She did not enjoy the negative cast into which Dave was painting his brother. Of course, she did not know much of the history between them, but she could tell that something in their past had hurt Dave greatly. Teyla had a hard time believing that hurt had been at John's hand, but she supposed that ultimately, anything was possible.

"Well, that's just great." Dave took a sip of his drink and then asked, "So, when can I expect an invitation?"

John's forehead wrinkled. "To what?"

"Your wedding."

"My..." Realization dawned on the colonel's face then, and he blushed a deep red as he stuttered, "We're not...we're just friends."

Dave seemed skeptical, but he simply shook his head. "My mistake. You two just seem so natural together. Not to mention her, um...condition."

Sheppard followed his brother's eyes to Teyla's rounded belly, then lifted his gaze to meet her soft brown eyes and replied, "Yeah, well, we've been through a lot together."

"I bet," Dave replied, a slight grimace of bitterness flitting across his lips.

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked as Dave set his glass down on the bar.

"Boys," Patrick warned, but his sons were too far grown, and too stubborn, to listen.

"That it's about time you stuck around someone else long enough to form a relationship with them," Dave shrugged. "You do seem to disappear a lot."

"You weren't there," John argued back, purposely keeping his voice low. "You don't know what happened. And I only left because I didn't want my life planned out for me. I thought living in America meant you got to choose your own future. Turns out it's only true if you're not a millionaire's kid."

The room had grown quiet, Teyla noticed then. Every pair of eyes had turned toward the two brothers, who were each glaring as if their very gaze could melt the other where they stood. She considered trying to make a comment to John, but just then she caught Patrick's eye. The patriarch shook his head at her – nothing more than a slight tilt of his chin – but it was enough. She swallowed the sigh she felt rising in her throat and inclined her head in a silent response.

"You know," Dave hissed then, his eyes burning with anger, "Dad was right about you. You are just like Mom – she left us, and then so did you."

At first, it seemed that John would punch his brother – his fist clenched at his side and his lips turned into the most terrible frown Teyla had ever seen – but then he suddenly blinked and let his hand fall back to his side.

"Mom didn't want to leave us, Dave. She was sick."

Teyla could see the intense hurt on John's face, but either Dave did not or he was too angry to care. Crossing his arms, he replied, "Sure she did."

"David Sheppard," Patrick tried again. "This is not the time..."

"Why not, Dad?" Dave sneered. "Why are you protecting him now?"

"I'm not," Patrick insisted with a frown. "I just think that this conversation is better left for another day."

Dave shook his head. "Well, I don't." Turning back to John, he said, "She kept her cancer a secret until it was too late. The doctors could've helped her, but she refused. She let it sit there, in her brain, and grow until it exploded."

Surprised, John glanced at his father. "Is that true? Did she know it was coming?"

The older man nodded. "She did. I'm sorry, John. She made me keep it a secret from you boys."

"Why?"

"Like you said, John...She was sick." Now too far gone into his self-righteousness, Dave leaned forward and added, "Sick of living with us."

John's control finally gave way, and he launched himself at his brother, knocking him back against the bar before anyone could even think to intervene. With his arm pressed tight against Dave's windpipe, he yelled, "Don't you ever talk about Mom that way again!"

"She abandoned us, John! You, me, and Dad."

"Shut up, or I swear..."

"Or what?" Dave challenged, his voice croaking with the effort of speaking with John's arm closing off his airway. "You'll kill me?"

Unable to bear it any longer, Teyla rushed forward and grabbed John by the shoulders, trying to pry him off of Dave. "Let him go," she said, her voice firm even as her body trembled all over. She had seen John terrifyingly enraged before, but there was a difference this time, one that made him even more frightening than ever. For the first time, she worried that he might do something awful out of anger. "John," she repeated, "let go."

It was a full minute before John obeyed her, glaring at Dave one last time before releasing him with a shove. As John allowed himself to be hauled backwards, he pointed at Dave and said, "You might be right about me being like Mom, but you're just like Dad. Neither of you know how to love anyone but yourselves."

"You don't know me," Dave spat back.

"And I don't want to. Have a nice life, Dave."When John turned on his heel and saw Jillian walking toward her fiance, he said, "Sorry I ruined your party. Congratulations."

She gave him a hard glare as she passed and Teyla led him out of the banquet room, one hand still on his shoulder and the other wrapped firmly around his forearm. The only sound she could hear were her own heels tapping against the tiled floor as they retreated, and thankfully even that faded away once they reached the carpet of the hotel lobby. Wordlessly, they walked to the elevator, and John punched the UP button.

As they stood waiting for the doors to open, Patrick rushed into the hall and called, "John, wait!"

John cursed under his breath. The elevator still had three floors to go before it reached the lobby. "Look, I know what you're gonna say, and you can save it," he said before his father could open his mouth. "Dave resents me. I get it. It was a mistake coming here, one that I'm going to remedy right now."

"If you two had more time to talk, maybe sit down and work things out..."

"No, Dad!" John cried, just as the elevator doors opened, revealing three people who were clearly part of the celebration in the banquet room. At the look on John's face, they quickly exited the car and Teyla stepped on, her arm holding the doors open. "There's nothing left to say. My friends and I are leaving, right now. You just go back to the party and have a good time."

With that, John stepped into the elevator beside Teyla, and she removed her arm. Just before the doors shut, John watched his father turn his back and walk away.

For the second time in his life, John Sheppard felt as if his father had just given up on him.

* * *

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

* * *

Teyla was awakened by the sound of her door chime, and blearily sat up and looked around. Realizing that there was someone outside her room, she turned on the lights then slid out of bed and unlocked the door, to see John standing there. His hair stuck up even worse than usual, and there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His black t-shirt was rumpled, suggesting that if he had gone to bed at all, he had spent the entire time tossing and turning.

"John?"

He looked up from the floor in surprise, as if he had just remembered where he was. The half-smirk he usually gave her as an apology for these late-night interruptions was replaced with a deep frown, and for a moment it seemed as if he would just turn around and walk away.

"Are you all right?" She asked, though she could plainly see that he was not. If nothing else, she only wanted to get him to acknowledge her presence, to break him out of whatever reverie he was currently trapped inside.

John finally blinked, then shrugged and said, "I'm sorry I woke you. I just..."

_Needed to talk_, Teyla finished in her mind, even as she knew he would never do so aloud. The colonel was very guarded; it often took a lot for him to allow anyone else to share in his thoughts and feelings.

"Please," she said, stepping aside slightly and holding out her hand, "come in."

He looked over her shoulder, then glanced around the hall. "You sure? It's pretty late..."

Biting back a sigh, she dipped her head. "I am sure."

Following her into the room, John nearly tripped over his own feet, he was so exhausted. He managed to get about three yards inside and just drifted to a stop, so Teyla took his hand and led him to the small loveseat at the end of her bed, tugging him down onto it as she sat. As he made himself as comfortable as he could ever get, she pulled on her robe and tied the belt around her waist, smoothing the hem over her knees.

"When is the last time you got any sleep, John?" She asked as the extent of his condition became fully obvious to her. His skin was paler than his Scottish heritage usually allowed, and when he blinked his eyelids were sluggish. He just seemed generally run down, and that was never good for an Air Force colonel, especially here in Atlantis when the Wraith could come knocking at any moment.

"I dunno," he murmured, leaning his head back against the cushion.

When he said nothing further, Teyla guessed that once again she was going to have to drag what was bothering him out of him. It was the nature of their friendship – he wanted to talk but had no idea of what to say, and so she would ask pointed questions in the hope of learning what it was he was thinking about.

After she and John had stepped off the elevator at the hotel and found the others, the only words he had spoken were orders to pack up their things, and for Rodney to figure out how to get back home. Luckily for the team, McKay's brilliant mind spent little time finding the solution to their problem, and within a matter of hours they had found themselves in the correct time and space. Soon after that, they were back in Atlantis, performing their usual duties.

Ever since that little adventure, John had seemed to withdraw just a bit more than usual. He was still friendly, making time to spar with Teyla or Ronon and play light-switch for Rodney, but he would often disappear into his room for hours, telling either Lorne or Woolsey that he did not wish to be disturbed for a while. Woolsey had been troubled enough by John's sudden change in personality that he came to Teyla to determine the reason for it, but although she had a reasonable idea, she did not feel that it was up to her to explain, and so she merely suggested that he talk to John himself.

"John, are you still troubled by what happened at the party?" She finally asked.

"I keep forgetting you're not one for small talk," he grumbled, shifting slightly in his seat. When she said nothing, he turned his head to look at her and saw that she was giving him her "cut the shit" stare. Sighing, he replied, "I keep thinking about what Dave said. That Mom was sick of us."

"But you must know that is not true. From what you have told me, you and your mother were very close."

"Yeah, but maybe that's just my remembrance of her. I was just a kid when she died, so maybe the memories I have of her aren't real. Maybe they're just...what I wish had happened."

Teyla had a hard time finding something to say next. The heartbreak on John's face was unmistakable, and she knew that mere words – even the most comforting things she could say – could never begin to help him. Laying her hand over his, she peered deep into his hazel eyes.

"John, your brother was angry, and said many hurtful things. Almost none of what he said was true."

Though he grasped her fingers tightly, he shook his head. "But what if it was? What if my mom knew she was sick, and didn't tell us? And neither did my dad."

"You said it yourself – you were a child. Even if she had told you, you would not have understood."

At this, he pulled his hand away and stood up. "I was old enough to know what death was, Teyla. I knew what happened to our dog, to my goldfish..."

Teyla also stood, and laid her hands on his shoulders. He moved to turn away, to keep her from seeing any more of his pain, but her grip firmed, holding him there as she replied, "Pets can be replaced. After a while, there will always be another dog. But your mother could never come back. Would you really have understood that?"

John's jaw clenched, but he made no reply.

"I know you are hurting, John. And I know you are still angry with your father, though I am aware of only a few of the reasons why..."

Now, he did pull away, and shook his dark head. "No, I'm mad at her! She could have saved herself, and she didn't!"

"No one knows that for sure. Perhaps the procedures would have been ineffective, or perhaps they would have been even more painful than the cancer. Would you have wanted her to suffer that way?"

"I wanted her to _stay_!" He shouted, the slight sheen of tears momentarily brightening his tired eyes. "I needed her!"

"No, you did not." Stunned into silence, he glared at her as she went on. "You only think so now, after you have learned that she might have lived. But you still grew up without her. And you have turned into a wonderfully kind and good man."

"I don't know where you've been, Teyla, but I'm far from a good man."

"Why? What makes you say that?"

He scoffed. "Remember when Kolya was taking over the city?"

She nodded.

"I mercilessly killed fifty of his men. They walked into that shield and died, instantly." Teyla opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head and rushed on. "I left Elizabeth with the Asurans. I could have disobeyed her order to leave, but I didn't. I lost Ford."

"But in none of those instances were you acting out of malice. With Kolya, you were protecting others in Atlantis. Elizabeth ordered you to leave her, knowing that if you stayed you would have been killed. And Ford ran away."

He was unconvinced, but let the subject drop for now. "Anyway, that's beside the point. The fact is that if my mom had been around, I wouldn't have had to go through so much of the hell I grew up with. The fights with my dad, being disowned..."

"And then you would never have come to Atlantis," she said, softly.

He looked up at her suddenly and began to say something, but then closed both his mouth and his eyes in defeat. She was right. If his mom had lived, he would have never developed his less-than-stellar attitude toward authority. He might have even remained married to Nancy and had what his father would call a "happy life". If that had happened, then John would never have been sent to Antarctica, and O'Neill would never have gotten into his helicopter. Of course, that also meant that he would never have lost Elizabeth or Ford, but he couldn't exactly say that they wouldn't have been lost without him being there, anyway.

"Are you even sure that what Dave said is true?" Teyla asked then.

"What?"

"When he told you those things, we were in a different time, in a different universe. Perhaps in _our_ time, she did not know."

This had obviously not occurred to John before, most likely because he had been too upset to really think everything through. He stood still, staring at her, for the better part of two minutes, and then heaved out a sigh and sank back down onto the couch. Teyla remained where she was for now, her tired mind struggling to keep up with the train of thought she had just put forth.

"Even if she did," she amended, "what does it change now? Do you believe that she loved you any less?"

He shook his head. "She loved all of us. Even my dad. Though only God knows why," he added under his breath.

"Do you think she truly wished to leave you behind?"

Another shake of his head. "I know she didn't."

"Then stop. Stop thinking about the angry words Dave spat at you, simply because he was hurt."

"That wasn't my fault, Teyla."

"I know," she replied. "His pain is all his own doing, as well as your father's. And some of it is no one's fault."

"What do you mean?"

"How old was Dave when your mother passed away?"

John lifted his eyes to stare at the ceiling as he thought. "Two, maybe three?"

"And does he have any memories of your mother?"

"Probably not," John admitted grudgingly. This had also never occurred to him – that he had something Dave didn't, something he could never have.

"The memories you carry of her are yours alone. He can never think back and remember her face, the feel of her hair. It hurts him to know that on top of you having all the privileges of being the eldest child, that you two cannot share your mother. To him, it feels that she ever only belonged to you."

She reached up and brushed a stray cowlick off his forehead, smiling sadly. "How would that make you feel, John?"

John thought about that. Only a few months ago, Teyla had watched Kanaan return to the remaining Athosians, while she stayed in her duties on Atlantis. Torren was to stay with her for the most part, but once he grew old enough to travel on his own, he would be welcome to visit the mainland any time he wished. Kanaan's leaving had been painful for her, but in her usual way she accepted that he had never really felt as if he belonged with the Lanteans, and so had bid him farewell. She spent a short time grieving the loss of her companion, but as she had a son to raise and a job to do, she soon regained her strength and moved on.

In the months and years before this, however, John's fear of commitment had led him to stand by silently first as Teyla bore Kanaan's child, and then as they continued their version of a domestic partnership. Of course, John had remained close by to offer support – babysitting Torren, listening to her fears of Kanaan's brainwashing returning, just generally being a friend – but each time he had seen them hug, it tore a small piece out of his heart. So, maybe it wasn't exactly the same thing as losing the mother you never really knew you had, but it was close enough.

"It feels...it's the worst feeling in the world," he whispered then.

Teyla nodded. "Of course, this is all meaningless if none of it is true here, in this time."

"It's probably too late to find out now. Dad's gone here, and I don't know if he ever said anything to Dave."

"Are you and your brother speaking?"

John shrugged. "A little. We're taking small steps for now." He sighed and leaned his head back again, this time closing his eyes. Already, he seemed more at ease. "I guess I could try and get a hold of him sometime this week."

Even though he could not see her, Teyla smiled. "I think that is a wise idea."

"Hmm," was his only reply. His hand, at first clenched in a tight fist resting on his thigh, now began to relax, his fingers opening out like an unfolding flower. Teyla slipped her fingers between them, and his lips turned up in the first smile she had seen from him in weeks.

They sat in silence, Teyla watching as each muscle in his face smoothed out, the worry-lines in his forehead all but disappearing. When she thought he had drifted off to sleep, she carefully shifted and moved to stand, but he grasped her fingers tight.

"Miss her. So much," he slurred, half-asleep.

She felt her heart squeeze again. Gazing at his slackening face, she could just see how he had looked as a child, realizing that these were the same features his mother must have seen and imagined what he would look like grown up. She thought that Maggie Sheppard would have been delighted with the way he turned out.

Standing up, she let her hand fall away from his, but then leaned over and dropped a small kiss on his forehead, right below his hairline. "I know," she whispered. As she pulled the cover off her bed and draped it over him, she said, "I am sure she misses you, as well."

* * *

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Okay, so I couldn't stop wondering about why Sheppard's going through all this, and then a super awesome idea hit me. I had to start it right now. Sorry for the cliffhanger-type ending of this chapter, but hopefully I will finish the next chapter today so you won't be left hanging too long!_

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

For just an instant, Sheppard felt intense cold swirl around him. It was as if he had been plunged into the water in Antarctica, a sharp, stinging cold that took his breath away and made him instantly numb all over. Uttering a loud gasp, he dropped the tablet computer he'd been holding for Rodney. It fell to the floor with a clatter, but luckily did not break.

Rodney himself turned and looked at him then. He had been about to scold the colonel for potentially breaking his expensive equipment, but when he saw the fear in Sheppard's gaze, he quickly stood up and grasped him by the arms.

"John, are you okay?"

As the feeling seeped back into his limbs, Sheppard slowly nodded. "Yeah. I don't know what just happened, there." Looking down, he saw the tablet on the floor and gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"That's...that's okay," Rodney replied, bending down to pick up the tablet himself. "No harm done."

Sheppard just stared at him. On any normal day, Rodney was a bear to work with, and that was when things were going his way. Catching him after something bad had happened was like poking that bear with a thousand watt cattle prod. Right now, in fact, they were supposed to be fixing one of the power relays to the Chair Room, and it was not going well. By all rights, Rodney should have attempted to verbally separate Sheppard's head from the rest of his body – and yet, there he was, acting overly concerned for Sheppard.

"Something's not right."

McKay looked up and frowned. "Hmm?"

"I said, something's not right," Sheppard repeated.

"Well, of course it's not. This relay is completely fried. It's gonna take hours to fix this, even for me."

"No, that's not it."

The physicist huffed. "Okay, John." He dropped his tools and stood up, crossing his arms. "What is it, then?"

For a moment, Sheppard could not put his finger on just what was bothering him. Then, his eyes grew wide and he said, "I can't hear the city."

"Huh?"

"Atlantis. I can usually feel her, here," he said, pointing at the base of his skull. "It's like a hum, or a...single, soft note that's always there." Frowning deeply, he gazed around at the hallway they stood in. "The only times I don't feel it are when we're off-world."

"But we're not off-world now," McKay told him. "You haven't been sleeping well, lately. Maybe you're just too tired to feel it."

Sheppard took a few steps away, still trying to regain the connection to his beloved city. He turned and faced the transporter, willing it to open, but it remained as it was, the door firmly shut.

"Yeah, maybe," he muttered.

Just then, the transporter opened, and a familiar young man stepped off. He walked past the two of them, a wide smile on his tanned face, and Sheppard almost forgot to breathe.

"Ford?" He whispered, watching as the young man's back retreated down the hallway.

"Did you say something?" McKay asked.

"I just saw...Ford just walked past us. You didn't see him?"

"No, but to be honest, right now I wouldn't see a ravenous wolf bolting past us. This relay is being a real pain in the ass."

"But I...Ford was..."

Rodney sighed. "Are you having a seizure or something? I've never heard you so incapable of stringing together a complete thought since that time you stuck your hand on Katie's poison cactus." The shorter man chuckled at the memory. "You were pretty hilarious that day, actually. Kept muttering about feeling sorry for ducks because they couldn't wear shoes."

At the look on Sheppard's face, Rodney sighed again and said, "Yes, Ford walked past. I don't know why that's weird, seeing as how he's been here since day one, but...well, we're talking about you, here, so I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that you've picked now to have a complete psychotic break..."

The feeling of wrongness was now intense, sending chills down Sheppard's whole body. Though he could clearly see Rodney working – and talking – nearby, all he heard was pressing silence around him. The chills grew exponentially stronger, and then the consuming cold was back, paralyzing his legs so that he could not move. The air in his lungs turned to lead, and when he tried to call Rodney's name all he managed was a soft moan.

The cold was suffocating him, he realized then, as darkness began to seep into the edges of his vision. With all his strength, Sheppard lurched toward Rodney, but he fell at least a foot short. He felt the hard floor connect with his head, but before he could wonder if he was bleeding, he was unconscious.

* * *

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

Sheppard opened his eyes and then immediately shut them again.

"Ow," he said. "Too bright."

"Sorry, Colonel," Keller's voice replied. There was a soft click, and then she asked, "Is that better?"

Tentatively, he cracked one eye open. She had dimmed the light above his bed so that it was little more than a golden glow. Nodding, he said, "Better. Thanks."

"How's your head?"

He shrugged as her cold fingers probed the skin at his forehead. Truthfully, his pulse banged behind his eyes, and his jaw hurt, but he was never one to complain much. "Okay, I guess."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Sheppard took a moment to think before answering. Then, he cautiously replied, "Yeah. I got dizzy all of a sudden. Must've passed out."

Keller nodded. "Your blood work was pretty much all over the place, so that's not really surprising."

"I'm gonna live, though. Right?"

She gave him a wry smile and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "You'll live. But your first stop after here had better be the mess hall. And I'm giving you some sleeping pills to help with the insomnia."

"I don't have insomnia," he argued. "I can grab at least a few hours every night."

"Either you take these," she replied, shoving a box into his hand and giving her best no-nonsense stare, "or I'll make Ronon force-feed them to you."

Sheppard rolled his eyes, but took the pills from her. "Fine. Can I go now?"

"Yep. All set."

"Great."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and then stood up. He was about to leave when a thought came to him, and he turned back.

"Hey, Doc?"

Keller looked up. "Yeah?"

"Have you seen Ford lately?"

"Who's Ford?" She asked. The puzzled look she gave him sent goose-bumps up his arms. His stomach lurched, as if he were on a roller coaster that had reached the top, and he was now looking at the steep drop below.

Recovering quickly, he grinned sheepishly and said, "Never mind. Must just be remembering something from the dream I had while I was out."

"Okay," she replied slowly, her expression telling him she was reconsidering letting him leave.

"I'll be in the cafeteria if anyone needs me."

Before she could call him back and subject him to more tests, complete with jabbing needles, he swung around and left the infirmary. He met Rodney in the hall on the way there, the scientist's nose nearly pressed against his tablet.

"Hey," Sheppard greeted him.

"Hey," Rodney replied without even looking up. "Sorry I didn't wait for you to wake up. I had to get back to work on the cooling system."

"Power relay."

Now, Rodney did look up. "What?"

"We were working on the power relay when I passed out, remember?"

Worry crossed the scientist's blue eyes, and he stopped in the middle of the hallway to stare at the colonel. "Are you sure you didn't damage anything in there when you fell? No, we were working on getting the cooling system back up to as near a hundred percent as we could. I thought that's why you passed out – because the heat was getting to you."

Sheppard shook his head. "No. The power relay to the Chair was fried. You said it would take at least a couple hours for you to fix it."

"The power relay is fine, John."

"Yeah?" He asked, and Rodney nodded. "Okay, then. Prove it."

McKay shrugged. "Fine. Let's go."

Together, they walked toward the Chair Room, Rodney worried about Sheppard's strange behavior and Sheppard worried that he might actually be going crazy. He was sure of what he'd seen; Ford had been so close, had looked so real, that Sheppard could have reached out and touched him. Could he have been imagining him, as he had imagined Elizabeth earlier?

"Where are you going?" Sheppard asked as Rodney stepped inside the room.

"To the power relay?" His friend replied, his eyebrows knitted even further.

"We were in the hallway before."

"Well, that would be pointless, as the relay is less than a foot from the actual Chair."

"You sure?"

"Seriously?" Rodney asked, almost angry now. "How long have I been lead scientist on this expedition? Yes, I'm sure. There is absolutely nothing in the hallway that has to do with anything in here!"

Sheppard walked into the room, following his friend over to the middle of the room.

"See?" He heard Rodney say then, and he followed the man's finger as he pointed at the Control Chair. "Everything's fine."

Sheppard stepped up onto the platform the Chair sat upon, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. "We'll see," he replied, and then promptly sat down in the Chair. The lights under the Chair came on at once, seemingly responding to Sheppard's presence, and when he touched the gel-filled controls on the arms it began to hum quietly. He felt the feather touch of the city's artificial intelligence gently prodding at the back of his head, and he sighed in relief. He hadn't realized how much he had missed that connection until this very moment.

As he shut the Chair down once more and stood up, he gave a shrug of his shoulders and said, "I guess you were right. Sorry, Rodney."

Rodney sniffed. "Yes, well. It's not every day I get accused of lying, especially about something as important as the city's defense system."

"I said I'm sorry, okay? It's just...it's been a rough couple of months."

"Months?" Rodney scoffed. "Try years."

Sheppard grinned. "Yeah."

"Now, if you're done having your little...memory lapse...could we go eat? I'm starving."

"Sounds good."

As they made their way to the mess hall, Sheppard pondered what was happening to him. Maybe what Rodney had said before had been true – maybe he was having a psychotic break of some kind. Stress was damaging not only physically but mentally, too. Maybe the intense strain he had been under lately was causing his body to try and reboot – causing hallucinations and similar phenomena – and it couldn't help that he hadn't slept a full eight hours in almost six months. He figured that Keller was right to give him sleeping pills, after all. He just hoped they would help. Still, he couldn't forget the way he'd felt when he had seen Ford, nor could he pretend that Ford had been a mere figment of his imagination.

Something else was bothering him, and it had taken the entire walk to the mess hall before he understood what it was. The moment he had started questioning reality was also the moment when the cold had shoved in on him, knocking him out. The odds of that being a coincidence were astronomical. The only question was: who or what was controlling it? Was it just his brain shutting down and then restarting, or was there something more at play here?

He hadn't realized that he'd stopped walking until he heard Rodney's voice, calling him. "Sheppard? You coming?"

His gaze snapping upward so fast his vision swam, Sheppard nodded. "Yeah."

He took a step into the mess hall, inhaled a large breath, and then smiled widely. They were serving pie today. Pumpkin, by the smell of it.

His favorite.

The mystery would have to wait, at least for a little while.

* * *

_TBC..._


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: Okay, so this chapter was basically just an excuse for Shep to make out with Teyla. LOL I can't help it - the looks he gave her on the show...guh! If that had only been me, I'd have been all over that!_

_Anywho, enjoy! And I promise, the next chapter will be where you find out what's been happening - at least for the most part. There's still a few mysteries to work out in the next few chapters._

* * *

Lost and Found

Chapter 8

* * *

Sheppard stood outside Teyla's door, rearranging his cowlicks for the tenth time and hoping that they were at least partly behaving themselves, as he had no mirror to make sure. He was supposed to pick her up for a sparring lesson, purely a practice session to work on his tendency to drop his left arm as he struck. The skin of that arm was already bruised from similar sessions, but he refused to give up until he got it right. He couldn't risk such a hole in his defenses the next time they came into contact with the Wraith.

Or anyone else, for that matter.

The door slid open, and his heart caught in his throat. Teyla stood before him, dressed in her usual flowing skirts and fitted top, but the sultry smile she gave him nearly set him on fire.

"John," she purred, as he took a step forward, "I've been waiting for you."

Clearing his throat, he tried a boyish grin. "Yeah, I had a couple things to finish up first." The door closed behind him and then locked, which puzzled him as he had not given the mental command for the lock. When she continued to stare at him, her eyes wide and dangerously dark, he said, "You, uh, ready to go practice?"

She took a step toward him, laid her hand in the middle of his chest. Now that she was so close, he could see the rapid pulse in her neck, and when she shifted slightly to brush the back of her hand against his cheek he inhaled her sweet perfume, warm and softly floral like a summer meadow. Sheppard closed his eyes, willing himself to pull back from the edge he felt himself slipping toward.

"Perhaps we should just stay here," he heard her say then, and he allowed himself to open his eyes and look at her.

"Teyla..." he began, shaking his head. "I...we..."

"Shh," she whispered, putting her fingers against his mouth. "We have kept away from each other too long."

With that, she stood up on her toes and captured his lips with her own. He considered pulling away, but her lips were just so soft and warm, he felt his control quickly slipping away. His hands came up to rest on her shoulder blades, holding her against himself as his tongue swept across her bottom lip, then dipped into her mouth. He felt the rumble of a low moan in her chest, and then her hands clutched at the front of his t-shirt, wrapping tightly in the fabric as her kiss became harder, more desperate. The fire in his core blazed hotter at that, and his hands slid to her waist, pressing her lower half closer to his own. Closing his eyes again, he listened to their rushing breath, realizing that he had slipped straight down the cliff and was now plunging into dark, dangerous water, but he no longer cared. His breath grew short, his lungs feeling as if they would burst, so he drew his lips away from hers only to gasp in a breath and then trail them across her throat. As he reached the sensitive spot just under her ear, she gasped out his name and then began to tug the bottom of his shirt upward. He let her pull it completely off of him, then started pushing her backward, toward the bed.

Just before he was about to toss her onto the mattress and resume attacking her throat and shoulders, the sensation of falling once more washed over him, followed by a blast of insanely cold air. This time, however, his limbs continued to function fully, and he shook his head hard as if to clear it.

Teyla leaned forward to kiss him again, but he put his hands up to block her. Looking around the room, he asked, "Where's Torren?"

She frowned a little. "Torren?"

"Yeah, Torren. Your son? Where is he?"

She seemed confused. Her hands laid on his arms as she said, "John, I...it is only I, here."

Now certain something was very wrong, he pulled himself out of her grasp and began searching the rooms for the little toddler he had come to love almost as his own.

"Torren! Torren, Uncle John is here!" He called, but there was no patter of little feet running from a hiding spot, no giggles from the closet or the bathroom as there usually were.

His eyes wide with fear, John spun around on Teyla. "What did you do with him?"

Her gaze mirrored his. "I do not know what you are talking about. I have no child, John!"

"Stop playing games with me, Teyla!" he shouted.

Tears immediately sprung to her eyes. "I would not do such a thing!"

He opened his mouth to yell at her again, but his eye happened to catch something that made him stop.

The patch was gone.

Every other time he had come to her room, he had seen the Canadian flag patch from Rodney's jacket – mounted in a wooden frame – sitting on the left side of her dresser. It was a memento she had kept as a reminder of Torren's birth, as Rodney had helped her deliver the baby on board Michael's ship. He still remembered the proud look on the scientist's face as he handed her the patch, telling her that he'd got an extra just so she could have that one. Teyla had immediately found its home and set it up there, intending on adding a few other decorations to the frame when she had the time.

He blinked and looked again. No patch. Not even an empty place where it had previously been. It simply seemed to never have existed.

"Crap," Sheppard muttered.

The cold hit him like a tidal wave, his chest filling with ice crystals that felt sharp, stabbing at his heart and lungs. Sheppard folded in on himself, clutching at his bare chest, unable even to cry out. He sank to his knees in front of Teyla, sweat standing out on his face as he struggled to breathe. The familiar black of unconsciousness rushed toward him, blurring his sight of her legs, but each time he fought against it it crowded in harder, faster. The pain in his chest was overwhelming, worse even than a Wraith feeding.

Pushing as hard as he could against the blackness, he managed to draw in enough air to gasp, "Teyla, help."

The last thing he saw was her face before him as she bent down, her eyes full of worry as she tapped her earpiece and called for help.

Then, the darkness swallowed him up.

* * *

_TBC..._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

* * *

Out of all the people Sheppard had lost, the worst had been his mother. He had been so young and her death so sudden, that he had never gotten to say goodbye. One day, she had been there, waking him with a sunny smile and a kiss on his forehead, and the next she was gone.

He remembered the smell of the hospital – astringent, like he'd stuck his nose in a full bottle of rubbing alcohol – and it frightened him more than the sight of the accident victims they had wheeled through the door as he sat with Dave in the waiting room. There were toys there, blocks and coloring books and stuffed animals, but he hadn't felt like playing. He was the older brother, the one in charge of Dave, so he had sat in the chair swinging his legs back and forth and trying not to cry.

He had known that Mom was sick, and sick people went to the hospital. But what he also knew was that sometimes, sick people didn't come home again. He learned that when they'd gone to Grandpa's funeral two months ago. Grandpa had been in the hospital, too, only he had been too sick for the doctors to help. Mom had tried to explain that Grandpa was old, and that it was his time to go, but even then John had been stubborn and refused to believe her.

John was scolding Dave for throwing a block across the waiting room when his father emerged from a doorway, with the doctor behind him. Seeing the devastating pain on his father's face, John sprang to his feet, grabbed Dave up in his small arms, and rushed over to him. He didn't need to ask any questions; the answer was written all over Patrick's eyes, in each tear that slipped down his tanned cheeks, and John suddenly understood everything.

Mom was gone.

He lost the fight with his tears. His six year old body shook so hard that he sank to his knees on the carpet of the waiting room, and his stomach felt like he would throw up. Dave, in his typical three-year-old fashion, saw that John was hurting and instantly flung his chubby arms around his big brother's neck. He smelled like the chocolate M&M's one of the nurses had given him to keep him quiet, and when he kissed John's cheek his lips were slightly sticky, but none of that mattered. John felt so lost; even in the middle of this busy hospital, with his little brother clinging to him, he was alone.

Suddenly, strong arms were around him, and Patrick's hands were cradling his and Dave's heads against his broad chest. All three Sheppard men huddled together, only two of them fully understanding that now, they were really and truly on their own.

From that day on, it seemed to John as if every person he knew who went to the hospital only left in a coffin, and so John began to see the hospital as a place where people go, not to get better, but to die.

He supposed that was why he hated the infirmary so much – not because of the sharp needles and such, but because each time he stepped inside, he worried that he would not step out again.

And now he was smelling alcohol again, or at least something fairly similar. Something about the smell was slightly off, as if something were trying to replicate it but without a proper frame of reference.

_**Kind of like the whales, when they were trying to warn us about the coronal mass**_, he thought, recalling with a grimace how his eardrums had been punctured by the whale's attempts at speech. They had tried to mimic the Ancient language, but years of teaching and re-teaching to their offspring had made it much like a game of telephone and the resulting speech was nothing more than garbled nonsense.

The sharp astringent scent pressed around him again, as if it was trying to draw him back to his memories, to lull him to sleep. He tested it, pushing back with the equivalent of his pinkie finger, and it swirled closer. When he tried again, harder, it seemed to retreat for a moment before nearly shoving itself against his senses. Even in his half-awake state, he realized that something was very wrong.

The hum was gone again.

He wasn't on Atlantis.

He had to get home.

He had to wake up.

As he began to break the surface of consciousness, he was hit by an intense pain in his chest, hot and fluid like molten lava filling his lungs.

_**Breathe.**_

The cold was still around him, numbing him. Though he could not feel his limbs, he knew that they must have been shivering terribly.

_**Come on, John, breathe!**_ he commanded himself, but the pain was too much. He felt himself slipping back into unconsciousness.

_No!_ _Don't give up!_

That hadn't been his voice, he realized then. _**Elizabeth?**_ He asked. _**Where are you?**_

_I'm here, John._

_**Where's here?**_

_That's not important, now. You've got to wake up, before they come back._

_**Who? Before who comes back?**_

He could feel a sense of frustration then, almost strong enough to imagine her standing there, frowning deeply at him.

_Just wake up! _He heard her shout in his mind. _Wake up NOW!_

Sheppard gathered all his strength and then struggled to the surface, his eyes flying open as he sat up and sucked in a huge gulp of air. Coughing with the effort, he looked around and understood why he had felt so cold. His body had been submerged in a tank of icy blue fluid, kept unconscious by a drug being pumped into his veins through an IV. He wondered silently how long he had been like this, and who had done it to him.

_No time! _Elizabeth's voice cried at him. _Help the others._

Confused, he gazed around the room. Sure enough, there were three more tanks lined up beside him. He could see Rodney in the one next to his, and further down was Ronon. The third tank was too far down to see who was inside, but he had a feeling that it was Teyla.

Ripping the IV from his arm, he climbed over the side of the tank and tried to stand. His legs were still numb however, and he started to fall. Luckily, his hands caught the edge of the tank and held him mostly upright, and after a few moments where he was sure someone would come in and catch him, the feeling slowly returned to the rest of his limbs. Still shivering as he was only clad in a soaking wet pair of boxers, he hurried over to Rodney's tank and stuck his hands into the blue liquid. Almost immediately his hands numbed, and he finally understood that it wasn't the drugs that had kept him immobile, but the liquid itself.

"Great," he hissed under his breath as he pulled his hands back out and stuck them under his arms to warm them. How was he going to get Rodney to wake up? If he pulled the IV now, Rodney would awaken underwater, and would likely inhale a lungful of the stuff. Sheppard had no idea of what that would do to him, but he was sure he didn't want to find out. Not only that, but as Elizabeth's voice was now incessantly reminding him, he was running out of time.

Sheppard looked around and saw a pair of shoulder-length black gloves sitting on a cart nearby. Whoever had put them here must have used them to protect themselves as they performed whatever weird experiment this was. They looked thick enough to keep the blue liquid from seeping through to skin, and were definitely long enough. Wasting no time, Sheppard grabbed them and pulled them on.

McKay's sputtering probably could've been heard throughout the entire building, but at least he was breathing again. When he opened his eyes and saw that he was now sitting on the floor of a strange room, in an even stranger building, and in nothing but his underwear, he gave Sheppard the most horrified look the colonel had ever seen.

"What...where...?" He stuttered, but Sheppard shook his head.

"No time. Here." He handed Rodney a pair of long black gloves, identical to the ones he was currently wearing. "Go wake up Teyla. And don't touch the blue stuff."

Rodney began to protest, but the dark look in Sheppard's eyes stopped him short. With a sigh, he suppressed a shiver and pulled on the gloves, then made his way over to the last tank in the row.

* * *

_TBC..._


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: I was going to have this be the chapter when we find out who is behind all this, but I decided to add a little more drama to the story, first. Hope you don't get too impatient with me! Anyway, you can just blame Sheppard - it's what I do! LOL_

_Next chapter, we'll find out. I promise! :) _

_Much love to those who have reviewed so far! I love you all, and I'm glad you're enjoying this story enough to keep following it! Kisses and hugs!_

* * *

Chapter 10

* * *

Sheppard's team slipped down the strange hallway, their bare feet silent as they moved. Coming to a t-junction, Sheppard held up his hand and they fell in line behind him, their backs pressed against the cool wall. They had managed to find a room filled with clothing – sadly, not their own but those of the beings that had abducted them – and had quickly put on the four linen robes that came close enough to fitting their frames. These people must have been somewhat shorter even than Teyla, as her tunic barely reached her knees. Ronon's was worse; it just reached the middle of his thighs, but he made no complaint, intent instead on getting out of there.

Wherever _there_ was.

"You have a plan?" Rodney asked Sheppard in a harsh whisper. He was still upset over having to leave without a sample of the blue liquid. He'd argued that there were various possible applications for it, both technological and medical, but Sheppard had refused to take any and instead dragged him from the room.

"I'm workin' on it," Sheppard whispered back.

"Yeah, well, could you hurry it up? I'm freezing to death here."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Hey, we're all in the same boat, Rodney. Now shut up so I can think."

The physicist wisely kept quiet as the colonel peered around the corner. The hallway beyond was empty, but Sheppard knew that was too much of a coincidence. The chances were that their disappearance had already been discovered, and they were being watched right now. Still, their need to find a way to contact Atlantis took precedence, so he decided it was worth the risk.

"Rodney, any ideas where they would have put our weapons?" he asked.

"What do I look like, Google Maps?" Rodney hissed. When Sheppard glared at him, he finally quietly added, "No clue, at least until I can find a computer or, you know, a directory of some kind."

"Why don't we just find one of em and ask?" Ronon rumbled from behind.

Sheppard shook his head. "Wherever we are, we're completely outnumbered, and we have no weapons. If one of them spots us, they're sure to raise the alarm."

"Well if we stay here any longer, we're definitely going to get caught," Rodney warned them. "We're totally out in the open."

"Dr. McKay is right," Teyla put in, though she shot the scientist a dark look. "We should find someplace else to hide until we have a plan for escape."

Sheppard slowly nodded. "All right. Let's get to an empty room, hopefully one with a computer so Rodney can figure out where the hell we are."

"Why is it always my job to get us out of every ridiculously hopeless situation?" McKay grumbled.

"Because you're the genius, Rodney. Now, let's go."

"Fine, but if this doesn't work, it wasn't my fault."

With the colonel in the lead, they hurried down the hall to the right, trying every door. Each one was locked, except for the one at the very end of the corridor. After a quick check to make sure it was unoccupied, Sheppard herded his team inside and turned to inspect the lock beside the door.

"It looks a lot like the control panels on Atlantis," he remarked to Rodney, who nodded faintly.

"Except for the fact that there's four crystals instead of three, anyway."

"Can you lock it?"

McKay paused before answering. "I should, yes. Might take a few minutes, though."

"Okay. Do it."

"Even if I do, how long do you think it'll be before they start searching this whole place, looking for us?"

Sheppard shrugged. "I'm sure it won't be long, but this will at least buy us a little while to figure out how to get back home."

"A little while? Okay, so we get to live, what? Five minutes longer?"

The colonel's patience was beginning to run thin. Grabbing Rodney by the front of his tunic, he steered the shorter man toward the control panel. "If that's what helps you get this done, then yes!"

"Uh, Sheppard?" Ronon called from further inside the room. "Look."

Curious, Sheppard let go of Rodney's shirt and turned around. The room, while empty of whatever beings had taken them, was lined with more of the same kind of tanks that had held their unconscious bodies. From what he could see, each of these tanks were likewise filled with people, suspended in the same blue liquid with IV's inserted into their arms.

"Crap," Sheppard muttered.

"There must be dozens of people here," Teyla softly remarked.

Knowing where her thoughts were going, Sheppard shook his head. "We can't, Teyla. We don't even know where we are. Besides, we don't have any more clothes. Certainly not enough for all of them."

Her stubborn streak burst forth then, and she turned pleading eyes on him. "But what will happen to them if we leave them, John? They could be killed."

"And so could we, if we don't get out of here," Rodney argued back, still fiddling with the door controls. A thought came to him then, and he shot Sheppard a horrified look. "What if we're on a ship?"

"We're not," Sheppard shot back confidently.

"How do you know?"

"I just do." Frowning, he asked, "Are you done with that thing yet?"

"So, what do we do?" Ronon asked Sheppard.

Sheppard opened his mouth to reply, but for some reason that even he couldn't fathom, he looked at Teyla. She was staring at him with those big brown eyes, silently begging him, and he heaved a sigh before replying, "Wake 'em up. Maybe one of them will know where we are, or at least what we're up against."

Teyla and Ronon found more of the arm-length gloves and began moving systematically between the rows of tanks, helping each person inside to awaken. When they were done, Sheppard took a head count and found that there were now fifty-four people in the room, fifty of them standing there in hardly any clothing, shivering against the cold air. Thirty-two men and eighteen women, their eyes all wide with terror, their hair dripping puddles of the blue goo onto the floor.

"I'm sure you're all pretty scared right now," Sheppard began, his eyes roving over each person, checking them for other injuries, identifying marks, anything helpful at all. "My name's John Sheppard, and these people are Rodney McKay, Ronon and Teyla."

From someplace near the back of the crowd, a man's voice said, "You are not the ones who took us from our homes."

"No," Sheppard assured him. "We were taken, too. And like you, we only want to get back to our home. Do any of you know where this place is?"

Fifty heads shook sadly as murmurs of frustration echoed through the room.

"Okay. Does anyone know who the people are who took us? Do you remember anything from when you were taken?"

"That is a good question, John," Teyla said then. "Do you recall being captured?"

"I've been trying, but I can't be sure what's real and what was a dream. How about you?"

She frowned. "I am also confused between my dreams and memories, and reality." Looking to Ronon, she asked, "Do you remember anything?"

As he shook his head, one of the women in the group shyly stepped forward. "I think I remember something."

"What's your name?" Sheppard asked.

"Jana."

He gave her his best reassuring smile. "Okay, Jana. Go ahead and tell us."

Jana's eyes darted nervously around the room as she spoke, as if she feared that whoever had done this would burst in any moment. "I was in my home, just about to go to sleep. My husband, Gavon, was tucking our sons into their beds. There was a strange sound, like a shrill cry, and I turned to the window just as a bright light shone into the room. Everything went black, and then you woke me up here."

Sheppard's eyes cut over to his team, who bore matching looks of horror, and then moved back to Jana's face. Pasting the same smile on his face, he said, "That's very helpful. Thank you, Jana."

Before he could turn away, she grasped his sleeve, her fingers clutching the fabric tightly. "You are going to take us home, aren't you?"

_**Damn,**_ Sheppard cursed mentally. Jana's eyes were just as heart-wrenching as Teyla's; one look into their depths and he found himself agreeing to anything.

_You know you couldn't have left them here, anyway, John,_ Elizabeth's voice told him. _You never leave anyone behind. _

"Of course," he heard himself reply aloud, though he wasn't sure just who he was answering. "Just...wait here for a minute, okay?"

Jana nodded, smiling brilliantly. "Thank you so much!"

As he walked away to consult with his team, Sheppard found himself hoping that despite the huge odds against them, he would be able to keep his word.

_Don't worry_, Elizabeth assured him, _you will._

* * *

_TBC..._


End file.
